Round Table Arena Novels & Stories

When I was seven years old, my younger brother went into anaphylactic shock after sneaking a handful of peanuts. Outside the emergency room, my mother slammed my head against the wall over and over, her face twisted with rage. "If you had been watching him like you were supposed to be, this never would have happened! You should be the one with a ruptured stomach, not him!" After that, whenever my brother so much as caught a cold, my mother forced me to eat spoiled leftovers as punishment. I once prepared an elaborate feast. She flipped the entire table and made me crawl on the floor to lick it clean. When I said I wanted to study culinary arts, she poured hot oil over my hands. My father wanted to send me to vocational school to learn a trade, but my mother clutched my brother to her chest and wailed. "She destroyed her brother's health! She owes him a lifetime of service!" When I was fifteen, my brother's gluttony cost my father an important business deal. I took the blame without even being asked, and the furious client forced me to drink more than half a gallon of hard liquor. By the time I was sent home with a bleeding stomach, my father had already scolded my brother. My mother took out her anger on me instead, slapping me so hard my ears rang and my vision went dark at the edges. "You useless thing! You should’ve choked to death at that table! I get sick just looking at you!" I coughed up black blood. From my pocket, I pulled out a piece of sour candy that had gone soft and sticky. It was the only treat my mother had ever given me with a smile, back before my brother's allergic reaction. I put the candy in my mouth and swallowed it down with the taste of stomach acid. The candy was so sour it made my throat burn. Whatever came next, I just hoped I would not have to be my family’s garbage disposal again.

For seven years, Sharon Spark has lived in exile—beyond the brutal tyranny of the Yellow Pack and the man who'd made her his mate. In a secluded cottage, hidden by anonymity and guarded by silence, she's constructed an uncertain peace for herself and her son, Alexander, a son born of secrets and sacrifice. But tranquility is destroyed the moment Luthor Michaels—the powerful, stubborn Alpha of the Tenzclaw Pack—discovers them. Driven by obligation, custom, and a possessive grasp he will not let go of, Luthor drags Sharon and Alexander back to the world she fled, insisting on making them both pack members. and a part of him. Forced into a union ritual she did not want, Sharon is thrust into the arena of political intrigue, whispered threats, and unadorned, unresolved feelings. She refuses to play the docile Omega. Yet in Luthor's gaze, she sees something deeper than domination—something which awakens the passion they once shared, and hungers for forgiveness. As Alexander comes to terms with his shifter heritage within the pack's shielding embrace, Sharon stands on the edge of preservation or release. With her possible protectors as unexpected as Deborah, Luthor's steel-spined cousin, and dangers in the form of rogue shifters on their borders, Sharon must decide: will she protect her son by running again… or battle for a home she never thought could ever be hers? Uncertain between the woman she once was and the mother she has become, Sharon must reconcile with the past she abandoned and the Alpha who never let her go. Trust being a vulnerability—and in a world where power is currency and war is love—building a future may demand more from either of them than they are willing to give up.

‎ ‎I died on Christmas Eve. ‎Poisoned by my sister… betrayed by the man I loved. ‎ ‎Death should have been my end. ‎Instead, it became my beginning. ‎ ‎When I wake up in a blood-soaked alley, a cold voice welcomes me to the “Demon Games" — a brutal survival arena where one hundred humans fight monstrous trials for a chance at rebirth. ‎ ‎The reward? ‎Ten years of life… and one impossible wish. ‎ ‎I am weak. ‎Near-blind. ‎And the easiest prey. ‎Which is why it makes no sense when “he" starts protecting me. ‎ ‎Tall. Masked. Dangerous. ‎His presence alone silences monsters… and makes my heart race for all the wrong reasons. ‎ ‎"Stay close," he whispers, his breath brushing my ear. ‎"Or I'll enjoy watching you beg." ‎They call him a demon. ‎A king. ‎A monster. ‎ ‎But when his hand grips my waist in the dark… ‎When his fingers tilt my chin up… ‎When his voice drops to a husky murmur. ‎"You're safer in my arms… don't make me prove it." ‎ ‎—I realize something far more dangerous. ‎I'm not just surviving the games anymore. ‎I'm becoming addicted to the man who could kill me. ‎ ‎Because the truth is… ‎The masked protector is the “Lycan King” — an overlord bound by rules that demand my death. ‎Yet every time we get too close… ‎Every time his control slips… ‎Every time his gaze lingers on my lips… ‎ ‎It feels less like protection… ‎And more like possession. ‎In a world where survival demands sacrifice and desire is a weakness… ‎I must choose— ‎Escape hell alone… ‎Or fall into the arms of the monster who wants to claim me. ‎ ‎

The Beast King, Tharion Kael, has spent half his life on the battlefield, yet he has no heir. So, he summons every woman rumored to be blessed with fertility into the palace. Favored by fortune and against all odds, I, as a descendant of the Carp Clan, conceive. To keep me safe during my pregnancy, Tharion hides me away in a remote, deserted palace, guarded in secret by his Nightguards. But just as I am about to give birth, I unexpectedly crossed paths with the Vixen Consort, Lyra Swifttail, who wanders into the Forsaken Wing by mistake. She swishes her tail playfully, eyes sparkling with amusement as she looks at my round belly. Her smile is utterly captivating. "I didn't expect to find a little carp having an affair here…" With a spell, she drags me away, forcing me into my true form. Then, one by one, she scrapes the scales from my body until I am raw and bleeding. She has her catfolk attendant pour scalding oil over my wounds and orders guards to violate me until I am left broken like a rag. When I finally lose consciousness, she slashes me open with a claw and rips the stillborn child from my womb. She presents it with both hands to Tharion, who has just come to visit. She says, "Your Majesty, what perfect timing. I caught a carp sneaking around the Forsaken Wing. This is her illegitimate child!"

Willa Roane dies the same night she catches her boyfriend in bed with her sister. Instead of waking in peace, she’s dragged onto a ghostly bus and informed—by a mocking intercom—that she’s entered the Survival Game: a twisted show where the dead are thrown into lethal, terrifying worlds for the cruel amusement of an unseen audience. The rule is simple: survive each round… or your soul is erased forever. Her only ally is Corvin Thorne, the devastatingly beautiful stranger who yanked her off the road and onto the bus. A hybrid vampire–werewolf with a past soaked in blood, Corvin is bound by a wicked secret contract to keep Willa alive… or forfeit his own soul to the game. As they descend deeper into the nightmare realms—from a monster-ruled Dracula Castle to ruined neon cities—Willa realizes she is the key. The deadly worlds are twisting around her darkest fears and fantasies, turning her own horror stories into elaborate traps. She isn’t just a player; she’s the author of the chaos. And the man sworn to protect her may be the only thing she can’t control. Now Willa must rely on the dangerous man she’s falling for, a man who swore he would never love again. The heat between them is undeniable, but as their bond deepens, it’s impossible to tell which is more dangerous: the monsters hunting them… or the love that could destroy them both. Love might be beautiful—but in this game, it’s never sweet. It’s a weapon, a weakness, and the one thing that might rewrite the rules of Hell itself: desire. ---

The day I died was Mommy’s birthday. For once, she left me an unusually large slice of cake. I hovered before it, greedy, leaning in to breathe in its sweetness. But the very next second, she handed the cake to my younger sister, Bella Tesla. “Have some, Bella. Better you than that ungrateful girl!” Then she turned to Daddy, who was filming nearby. “You recorded everything, right? When she returns, make her watch it. Don’t let her say again that we play favorites! “Of all things to learn, she learned how to run away from home! “We spoiled her! If she has any sense, let her never come back!” She sneered as she slammed the table and cursed at me, never noticing the panic on Bella’s face as she held the cake. She also failed to notice Bella’s disheveled hair. She noticed even less the dark stains of blood on her sleeve. Blood that belonged to me.

Meet Hera Julius, popularly known as the daughter of the NightWalker pack's traitor, but she's far from your typical damsel in distress. With her beauty and fierce spirit, she's a force to be reckoned with. But when she publicly rejects Alpha Lucien, she sets off a chain of events that will test her strength like never before. Just like other Alphas, Lucien's ego is crushed by Hera's rejection. He vows to make Hera pay, but how far will he go to make her suffer? Fate takes a sharp turn, sparing Hera from the pack's wrath after being accused of a murder she didn't commit. She's handed over to Lycan Damien as his breeder, with a precarious deal on the table threatening her life. Can she convince Damien to break the deal, despite his icy demeanor? What if there's more to the situation than meets the eye, particularly given her position as his breeder?

Without Kaelen's knowledge, I had his little plaything sent out of North America. That same night, he cast a blood-vine curse on my parents, banishing them to the wilds—a wasteland prowled by rogues. He was going to trade my parents' lives for the whereabouts of his plaything. Kaelen pushed a communication crystal in front of me. Inside it, my parents were ensnared by blood-red vines, the thorns digging deep into their flesh. Drops of dark crimson blood fell, one by one, onto the barren earth. A countdown timer pulsed in stark red digits on their chests. 23:59:59 23:59:58 He sat across from me, a black suit tailored to perfection molded to his lean, powerful frame. His long fingers tapped a light, steady rhythm on the solid wood table, as if he were waiting for a trivial business deal to close. "Estelle, you have twenty-four hours." His voice was low and calm, laced with a venomous tenderness. "Tell me, where did you send Cassandra?"

I used to be a top ballet dancer. The year I was diagnosed with a spinal hemangioma, my boyfriend Julian Blackwood said, "Wherever you go, I go." We'd been together three years. He walked beside me as I went, step by step, from the most luminous dancer on that stage to a woman in a wheelchair. Every time the nerve pain hit and I collapsed, he was the one who lifted me off the floor. Every round of electrostim and acupuncture, he sat in the corridor outside the therapy room and waited for me to come out. Before I got sick, he promised me—the night I finished my final performance of Swan Lake, we'd sign the marriage license. He'd bought tickets for that show three months in advance. I never stood on that stage again. And the marriage license never came up. Until the morning I noticed the collar of his white dress shirt carried a smudge of lipstick that wasn't mine. I heard him on the balcony. A woman's voice on the other end. "Mr. Blackwood, you left your jacket at the hotel last night. I'll bring it over." I stared at that smear of red, and something in me snapped. I laughed. "Send me to Westbrook. The locked-down rehab facility. I don't want to drag you down anymore." Something flickered in his eyes—a brief, animal panic. Then he nodded. He thought I meant rest. He didn't know I'd already signed the papers to donate my body to science. I was going there to die.

His steel gray eyes pierced into hers, and Rose felt like he become luring her into his daJA abyss. She took worried steps backward, however she didn't understand that he cherished the chase and derived pride from looking her run.She knew she couldn't run nor conceal from him, but there has been no different choice. He without difficulty cornered her in opposition to the wall, trapping her there. considered one of his arms snaked round her tiny waist, and the other caged her among himself and the wall. "tell me what you need, Rose," he stated, his hot breath fanning her neck. The moonlight cast a shadow on him, making him appear to be the satan he was. "What I need is to tug you to hell in which humans like you belong," she seethed. He let out a raw, deep giggle that had her insides twisting."And you suspect you will go away hell after dragging me there? interesting," James chuckled. "i'll ensure you might not get out of there. i'll make certain you have got nowhere else to run however my arms. My call can be the handiest factor you can pronounce as it might be the simplest element you think about, and whilst that occurs, you will be absolutely mine, Rose," he stated sinisterly. Trapped among love and struggle, Rose need to sail through if she intends to protect the humans she loves.